<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>faning the flames by anonone</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111688">faning the flames</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonone/pseuds/anonone'>anonone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Knowing and unknowing [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Compulsion, Crying, Identity Issues, Loss of Identity, M/M, Paddling, Psychological Torture, Tears, beholding used as a weapon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:13:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,062</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonone/pseuds/anonone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the first time Elias had called Jon into his office, he couldn’t sit for a week. After the last session Elias noticed he was healing in a matter of days. This would require for further testing. Today he held in his hands a thick, heavy, wooden paddle, it should do nicely.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Knowing and unknowing [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>faning the flames</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is gonna get better for Jon, stay with me lads i can never resist writing a happy ending</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the first time Elias had called Jon into his office, he couldn’t sit for a week. After the last session Elias noticed he was healing in a matter of days. This would require for further testing. Today he held in his hands a thick, heavy, wooden paddle, it should do nicely.<br/>“Right then Jon, over the desk.” There is no paper this time. Jon finds it odd that he still flinches and flushes pink with shame when Elias unceremoniously pulls his trousers down, why is he still embarrassed? Elias has seen it all before, Elias is the cause of his semi-permanent bruised state but humiliation still burns deeps within his gut. <br/>Elias takes in the sight the unblemished skin before him with a sick sort of delight. “Excellent work Jon,” he croons, running the back of his hand across the fresh, pink soft skin, “you can be such a good boy when you want to be.” A hand pats Jon’s head in a way that could be misconstrued as affectionate, were Elias not brandishing a paddle, having stripped Jon and forced him over the desk, but he hadn’t really forced him had he? Elias had just asked and he had obeyed. He cringed and tried to push that train thought out of his mind, instead focusing on the praise Elias had just given him, praise was good. Praise meant less pain, most of the time. Jon had no idea why Elias was praising him though? it’s not like he had any control over how fast he healed? All this conflicting data made him feel woozy and wobbly but he decided nodding and agreeing with his crazy torturous boss was probably the most likely course of action that wouldn’t end in more pain. He wanted to be anywhere but where he was right now. He wanted to bolt for the door, but something in him knew it wouldn’t end well if he did. The click of a tape recorder. He was recording the session again then. For what? Blackmail? Shit. Anxiety fluttered in Jon’s stomach mirroring the Paper fluttering in front of his face. “Well I supposed it wont hurt your development to have another statement whilst we do this. Oh God. God. Jon thought, it was happening again. how? When he had first left the office he had instantly meant to tell someone, to go for help, but when he actually got face to face with Martin all these questions started to pop into his brain, why hadn’t he run? Fought back? Did he secretly enjoy it? Think he deserved to be punished? He saw Martins face, cold and judging flash through his mind like a premonition and he couldn’t bare the idea of those eyes, in front of him now, so warm, so caring, turning on him, judging him, seeing him for what he really was and So he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. <br/>“Statement begins” more than a hint of impatience bled through Elias’s voice. Jon hurriedly began racing through the statement, half to make up for the time wasted daydreaming about Martin and half out of a mind to get this over with as quickly as possible. Elias wailed on him with the paddle, without so much as a the hint of a warm up, just beating the ever-loving shit out of him. Jon’s mind focused into a singular white hot point of agony, unable to know anything but whack of the paddle, the excruciating soreness in his behind and the now seemingly impossible task of drawing oxygen into his lungs. Elias finally tired. Jon’s breathing betrayed him, desperate gulps remodelling themselves into barely choked back sobs without Jon’s consent. He hated crying in front of Elias, always remembering the way he looked trough his eyes at the end of that first session, broken and pathetic, disgusting. He was almost thankful when Elias interrupted his miserable thought process, “The amount of strokes does not change depending on the speed of the statement Jon, if you rush I shall be forced to deliver the blows with less time in between them and I don’t need the eye to tell me that is not something that is preferable for you.” <br/>After a shaky recovery, wiping away tears he hadn’t realised he had shed. He continued, slower this time. He found focusing on the words, really savouring them, loosing himself in the story helped. It was almost like he could experience the beating from far away as he looked through a pair of eyes that weren’t his own. Perhaps this was an indicator that he was going mad? Finally cracking under the pressure. He was wrenched from of the story, the wind knocked out of him by another thwack of the paddle, jerking him forward. He pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the desk, trying to ground himself as Elias, tired of waiting for Jon to finish, decided to continue the experiment to find out how fast he would recover from this, statement or no. <br/>The longest most excruciating hour of Jon’s life, so far, passed in waves of rippling pain, silent screams and hyperventilation. Jon knew by now not to beg, it didn’t stop the desperate pleas of “stop! no more!” that crawled their way up his throat, elbowing past each other out of his lips clamouring frantically onto Elias’s deaf ears. “Elias please!.. please-ah- I cant-” <br/>“shut UP Jon” he punctuates the ‘up’ with a blow from the paddle wrenching a noise from deep within Jon that wanted to be a scream but came out as a desperate, hollow wail. Elias layed the paddle on the desk, satisfied with his work, for now. An uncontrollable torrent of tears flowed from Jon’s eyes, he scrambled frantically for something in his mind that would make them stop. He knew what came next and he always looked so much worse when he was crying. It was too late though as Elias ripped his soul open once more, showing him his deep inner truths that should have been unknowable, truths designed to break a human mind. Jon’s already fractured psyche shattered further than he would have thought possible, he saw himself, a man- no, a creature with eyes like broken glass, never to be whole again. Perhaps the eye granted him a mercy when it let him slip from consciousness.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>